


darkness beating like a drum

by wanderlove



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlove/pseuds/wanderlove
Summary: Darth Vader has slayed Mace Windu, pledged his loyalty to Darth Sidious, and prepares to march on the Jedi Temple--but the turns of fate are not set in stone and in one crucial moment, the man known as Anakin Skywalker pauses and thinks things through. He sets out on a different path to claim everything he's ever wanted: the power of the Dark Side, a Galactic Empire, and, most importantly, Obi-Wan Kenobi.aka Palpatine miscalculatesaka the THRONE SEX fic
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Vader
Comments: 33
Kudos: 593





	darkness beating like a drum

**Author's Note:**

> hello, folks, back from the dead! Sorry work and grad school hit me like a moving freight train, but I am still alive and still working, just at a ~much~ slower pace. 
> 
> please enjoy this dark!fic extravaganza, just be forewarned that Vader/Anakin is an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator and that he is definitely manipulating Obi-Wan up the wazoo. If healthy, non-codependent relationships are your thing, turn back now.
> 
> AU where Padmé/Anakin is not and was not ever thing, established relationship Obikin. Also AU in that Anakin is a little less of a Hufflepuff and a little more of a Slytherin, which yeah, okay might be a little OOC, but hey, that's the joys of fanfic. 
> 
> okay, on with the show.

The thing is, Anakin’s not stupid.

And okay, he’ll be the first to admit, he doesn’t always think things through, that he has absolutely no patience for the sort of subtle manipulations that most politics require, and that he’d take three broken sub-light engines over a single headache inducing conversation about his feelings any day. But the thing people forget—the thing that _Palpatine_ seems to have forgotten—is that Anakin spent the first nine years of his life a slave and you don’t survive nine years as a slave if you can’t read your masters’ minds, anticipate their moods, and redirect their anger and frustration whenever possible.

So, yeah, Anakin’s not stupid and if even if it goes against his very nature, he _can_ slow down and think, if only he’s given the right incentive. And some deep, instinctual part of him that was formed during those years in slavery is currently screaming at him, warning him that the slightest misstep or miscalculation will lead to a fate worse than death.

Anakin will _never_ be a slave again.

He forces himself to slow his strides, to breathe in deeply and think.

Palpatine is moving quickly, decisively to eliminate any threat to his power. Anakin’s just helped him eliminate one—Master Windu—and ostensibly he’s been sent off to take care of another, but he doesn’t think the Temple is Palpatine’s true goal, not really. A bunch of aging teachers, crippled librarians, and helpless younglings are hardly much of an obstacle to any of Palpatine’s plans. In fact, the only real threat in the Temple would be Anakin himself—the only Jedi (well, Sith now, technically) left on Coruscant who could even hope to thwart Palpatine’s plans or match his power.

This makes Anakin tilt his head sharply.

It is, after all, the nature of the Sith: the Apprentice must kill or be killed. Anakin turns the question over in his head. Does he want to kill Palpatine and take the throne for himself? Palpatine is more powerful, yes, but give Anakin a couple of years immersed in the Dark Side and even a modicum of training and he’s confident he can easily close the gap. Palpatine might be wily, but Anakin’s young, handsome, and charming, at least according to the Holonet. He’s willing to bet that the Republic’s citizens would probably much prefer him to slimy, old Palpatine, resist him far less. There’s a reason why the grandmothers of Mos Espa always shook their heads and sternly warned the younglings against “gilding their chains”—the illusion of kindness always broke a slave’s will, made them forget their roots far more effectively than any overly-harsh punishment or public humiliation.

The more Anakin thinks about it, the more he wonders _what_ exactly he needs Palpatine for. The old raisin has already set himself up so beautifully as a scapegoat—the duplicitous, power-hungry politician playing both sides of the war and unmasked by the noble, decorated war hero, who reluctantly agrees to take the throne to avoid all out chaos. Then, he’ll finally have the power he’s always wanted—the power to make sure he will never be helpless and weak, to ensure that _no one_ will ever be able to hurt him or Obi-Wan or Ahsoka ever again. He will be able to make things right, too—no more allowing the whims and dithering of a corrupt, money-hungry few politicians to dictate the lives of millions of sentients—and bring peace to the Galaxy at long last, as he was always meant to do.

Yes, he decides with a nod, he would like very much to kill Palpatine.

Palpatine is definitely not stupid—he has probably already run through the exact same mental calculations as Anakin and come to the exact same conclusion. They are balanced precariously on a razor thin knife’s edge—Anakin’s inherent strength in the Force at war with Palpatine’s decades of experience and planning. Palpatine will work to undercut any advantage Anakin might have, to keep them balanced there for as long as possible before discarding him and moving on to the next apprentice, the same way he did with Dooku. Sending Anakin off to slaughter helpless, innocent younglings will definitely go a long way towards tarnishing Anakin’s image and begin the likely years long process of setting _him_ up as Palpatine’s scapegoat.

But Anakin also can’t _not_ attack the Temple, not now when he’s still growing into his new powers and Palpatine will be keen to nip any hints of rebellion in the bud. Anakin can’t take Palpatine.

At least, not alone.

Anakin’s spine stiffens and feels the mania stealing across his features.

Anakin Skywalker may not be able to defeat Darth Sidious, but Anakin Skywalker _and_ Obi-Wan Kenobi certainly can. They’re the Team, unflappable and unstoppable, the two Jedi who have faced down impossible odds a million and one times and laughed as they came out the other side. Palpatine knows this—it’s why he waited to reveal himself to Anakin until Obi-Wan was clear on the other side of the Galaxy, chasing after General Grievous. He suspects it’s also why Palpatine feigned weakness and allowed him to deal the critical blow that killed Mace Windu, to clearly demarcate his changed loyalties and cut him off from any former Jedi allies—after all it’s not the sort of thing that can ever be walked back or forgiven. 

Or least, that’s what Palpatine thinks.

Anakin laughs wildly, power and confidence coursing through his veins.

Because if there’s one thing Anakin Skywalker knows, it’s that there is _nothing_ Obi-Wan Kenobi won’t forgive him.

He’s known it since he was a nine-year-old youngling, stealing a second serving of sweets off of Obi-Wan’s plate; since he was a fifteen-year-old Padawan, sneaking into the Holocron vaults to learn advanced, forbidden Force techniques; since he was a twenty-year-old Knight, convincing Obi-Wan to break his vows so he could instead gasp out Anakin’s name as he fucked his former Master into their shared bunk.

Anakin changes direction, his robes whirling around him as he marches away from the Temple.

He’s sure the clones are more than capable of clearing out the Temple and besides, he has a Jedi Master to find.

***

Like all of Anakin’s best plans, he makes this one up as he goes along.

As a child, he had learned to trust his instincts. As a Padawan he had been taught that those instincts were really the Force, guiding him. As a Knight dropped in the middle of a galactic civil war, he had learned that it was probably really more like some combination of the two. Now that he’s Fallen, the principle is the same—though the Force that he reaches out towards is a little Darker, a little more slippery, and a lot more powerful. He can’t believe he ever allowed the Council to keep him from _this._ If the old fools had only been willing to brush against the Dark Side, the entire war would have been over in months. Instead, they had refused and subjected themselves, their Knights, and the rest of the Galaxy to this endless, nearly four-year slog.

He steals a richly appointed diplomatic cruiser from the Senate hangars—probably Senator Organa’s, based on the Alderaanian design. Echoes of Obi-Wan’s Force presence linger in the ship, which is probably what called Anakin to it in the first place.

He stares at the dried herbs in his hands, the hum of hyperspace around him and the heavy, fragrant smell of tea pervading the ship’s galley, a smell he has always associated with Obi-Wan. It’s far more distinct than any bland Temple soap or battlefield stench. Apparently, Obi-Wan has visited the ship often enough not only to leave subtle marks of his Force presence, but also for Organa to keep a small stock of Obi-Wan’s favorite tea. He clenches his fingers and stalks away, back towards the engine room—objectively, he knows that that the two have known each other since Anakin’s padawan days and that Organa had requested Obi-Wan’s help for several important diplomatic missions, both before and during the war. But somehow the presence of this expensive, rare, and hard to find tea seems a confirmation of all of Anakin’s worst fears. He can see it now in his mind’s eye—on one of those early missions, when Anakin had been too young and far behind in his training to tagalong, stuck at the Temple, his young master, grief-stricken by the loss of Qui-Gon and overwhelmed with the responsibilities of a new padawan, falling into the arms of an equally young, unfairly handsome Bail Organa as they set out across the Galaxy to bring peace and justice to some backwater planet. 

He breathes in and out, forcefully expelling the rage from his mind—it’s not that the rage isn’t useful, of course, it’ll come in handy once he has to deal with the stupid, democracy-loving Senator once and for all, but that’s later. First, he must secure Obi-Wan’s loyalty, to make sure that his former Master has no cause to listen to traitors like Organa, and rage will do him no good in such an endeavor.

Anakin almost wants to laugh. Who would have thought that all it took for him to master the Jedi mandate to release his feelings into the Force was Falling to the Dark? But he finally understands what the Jedi were getting at. 

It’s not that he’s planning to _lie_ to Obi-Wan, not really. It’s just that he knows his Master has been brainwashed by the Jedi and blinded to Sidious’ machinations for so long. The truth must be presented to Obi-Wan in the best possible light. 

He pushes the engines, taking the cruiser out to drift at the very edges of Core space, uncaring of the damage he’s doing. He’ll need to destroy the engines anyways, so who cares if they give out, so long as they get him and the ship safely out of the reach of out of the reach of GAR patrols and Sidious’ wrathful eye.

He disables the ship, roughing it up a little to make it look like there was a struggle, and then sets about preparing himself. He uses the Force to float his lightsaber into the air and maim himself, some deliberately crossed wiring in the engine room to give himself a nasty electrical burn vaguely reminiscent of Sith lightning—it is easy, really. The hardest part is the brief sting of sadness he felt destroying his beautifully made, custom-modified prosthetic with his saber, but he promises himself that the moment he sits upon his new throne, he’ll build himself a new one—sleeker, more sensitive, more efficient, more deserving of his new status.

When he is done, he activates the ship’s emergency beacon, across the secret Open Circle Fleet bandwidth known only to Obi-Wan, himself, and a handful of their most trusted commanders. Then, he lies in wait. It’s not easy—he’s created a careful scene of destruction, a trail of blood from the boarding area to the cockpit and he can’t move, not without disturbing all of his careful work. He is forced to just sit there and be still, his blood drip-drip-dripping to the floor and forming a small puddle around him as his head grows muzzy from lack of food and water.

It takes less than two standard days before he is hailed by another unfamiliar ship, using a very familiar code, and Anakin uses the last of his strength to type in the commands to drop the shield and open the hangar doors. He slumps back against the pilot’s seat, closes his eyes, and waits.

The door to the cockpit whooshes open.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s voice cries, the most melodious sound in the world. Anakin lolls his head back and allows a thin smile.

“You found me,” he whispers in a croak, as a cool wash of the Force and his master’s hands gentle across his wounds. “I knew you’d find me.”

“Hush, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chides, his voice heavy with barely concealed worry as he hauls Anakin to his feet and drapes Anakin’s flesh arm over his shoulder. Anakin groans as the movement pulls at his burn. “I’m here now, I’ll take care of you. Force, what the—your arm!”

“Yeah,” Anakin slurs as Obi-Wan gently lets him down onto a bunk and begins to apply bacta to Anakin, scraping away long-dried blood to treat the wounds anew. He keeps his eyes closed—it’s easy enough right now and there’s no need to shock him quite yet. “Another Sith, another arm. Least this one didn’t hurt as much.”

“Good to see you didn’t lose your sense of humor with the arm,” Obi-Wan says, voice cracking and unsteady. Obi-Wan fully removes Anakin’s tunic and hisses, tracing a finger across the burn arcing across Anakin’s chest. He reaches out a hand to Anakin’s chin and tries to turn his head, but Anakin stubbornly keeps his face turned away. Obi-Wan let’s out a frustrated huff. “Anakin, please, I need to check your head for injuries.”

“No,” Anakin says stubbornly. “I can’t—you’ll…you’ll hate me.”

Obi-Wan pauses and then lays a hand against Anakin’s curls.

“Dear one, I can sense the Darkness clinging to you—I have since the moment I stepped foot on this ship. I know you’ve brushed the Dark, used its power—I did the same when I was a young man on Naboo, giving in to my anger and grief for one terrible moment in order to win the duel against Maul,” he says, gently, soothingly. “But I don’t care what you had to do to stay alive, only grateful that it worked. Everything else we can figure out.”

“But my—my eyes,” Anakin says, fear still tinging his voice as he allows Obi-Wan to guide his head so that he now faces Obi-Wan. He pauses, briefly, inhaling sharply as he registers the golden sheen of Anakin’s eyes. Then, an infinitely sad smile steals across his features—weighty and joyless, yet packed with so much meaning. He bows over, forehead touching Anakin’s chest.

“Oh, Anakin, I thought you were _dead_. When I felt the bond snap into Darkness and then when my troops turned on me—I feared the very worst. This is…this is terrible, but I can sense the good in you still, no matter what the Code says. I’ll help you find your way back, do not worry.”

“Thank you, Master,” Anakin replies, breath hitching. 

“Come, let us treat the rest of your wounds—no more of this hesitation.” Obi-Wan’s tone is brusque, no nonsense. “You need rest.”

“But, the Sith—!”

“Will still be around when you wake. Right now, it is more important that you rest and regain your strength. We will talk about next steps, later. And then, once we’re both ready, we’ll take him.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

And so Anakin drifts to sleep.

***

They spend the next few days recovering, Obi-Wan’s ability to nurse Anakin back to physical health seemingly doing wonders for his own mental state.

They are meditating when the broadcast reaches them. His former Master insists on guiding Anakin through old, childish meditation routines, desperate to find some way that will help Anakin claw his way back from the Dark. At first, Anakin participates more to humor Obi-Wan—he’s never been terribly good at meditation—but then quickly realizes their necessity. Anakin devotes himself to his meditations with renewed vigor—something Obi-Wan takes as a hopeful sign of a possible return to the Light but is really anything but. As a Jedi, Anakin could afford to be blasé about his lack of control, but he is coming to realize that the raging inferno that is the Dark Side is merciless to those unprepared to tame it. For all their jabber about passion, control is the true source of a Sith’s power. 

There must be something in the settings of Organa’s ship or some flag in the contents of the message, because the ship’s computer decides to immediately project the broadcast all over the ship, the sight of the still smoldering Jedi Temple interrupting their meditation.

Obi-Wan’s distress is vicious and sudden, wrenching Anakin from his own meditation. He stares at the Holoprojection in horror, as some Holonet reporter narrates the proceedings.

“…and we know go live to the coronation of Emperor Palpatine, which will take place on the grounds of the newly christened Imperial Palace. The Imperial Senate has approved a measure stripping the Jedi Order of all its assets and placing them in a trust, to be controlled by the Emperor…”

Anakin turns the audio off with a flick of his fingers, unable to bear the distress on Obi-Wan’s face any longer.

There’s a long, precarious moment of silence.

Finally, Obi-Wan’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips.

“What—I don’t understand. What happened?” he says, sounding lost. 

“I feared as much when I saw…I saw him give the order,” Anakin confesses.

“Him?” Obi-Wan repeats. Anakin can feel the gears in his head turning, the weight of his gaze. “Palpatine is the Sith?”

Anakin nods silently and Obi-Wan’s sharp inhalation of breath cracks across the air.

“No, no it can’t be,” Obi-Wan says finally, his voice achingly fragile. “How could we be so blind?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Anakin murmurs, completely honest. There are many people he can and will blame for Palpatine’s rise to power—the blind Jedi, the corrupt Senate, even Anakin himself—but not Obi-Wan, never Obi-Wan. “I didn’t see either—I should have seen, I was closer to him than anyone. I should have...”

Anakin hesitates and grips Obi-Wan’s hand tighter. Obi-Wan twists and clasps Anakin’s hand tightly between both of his, almost unthinkingly.

“Should have?” Obi-Wan says, confusion leaking into the words. Obi-Wan’s hands slip away and he can’t seem to look away from Anakin’s golden eyes, true understanding finally, _finally_ registering. “Anakin,” he begins slowly, “how did you come to see him give the order? Why were you there?”

“When Palpatine revealed himself, Master Windu took the remaining Council members to confront him, to try and force an arrest. But he was so strong—too strong. We lost. And I felt so helpless, so weak so I…” Anakin trails off.

“So you touched the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan finishes for him, the vowels fall flat and dead and odd from his mouth. Anakin nods. “And then you weren’t weak anymore. I know this part, you’ve told me as much. But what happened next?” Anakin is silent for a long moment and Obi-Wan’s voice sharpens. “Anakin, what have you _done?_ ”

“I didn’t mean to,” Anakin says, his voice small. Obi-Wan is still staring at him numbly, and Anakin lets his eyes dart away, as if he is ashamed. “I wasn’t strong enough, Master—we couldn’t stop him and I knew, just knew he was going to win and I…I Fell. He felt it somehow, me reaching for the Dark, and he laughed and offered me the chance to save myself—to become his apprentice and replace Dooku. And I know it was wrong, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I couldn’t think straight, so I said yes. He wanted me to prove my loyalty though and he made me deliver the final blow that killed Master Windu, to prove my loyalty and I…did it.”

Obi-Wan inhales, sharp and echoey in the small room. His hand flies to his face, covering his mouth in horror.

“Anakin, no…”

“But then he wanted me to march on the Temple,” Anakin charges ahead. “…to slaughter the younglings. I said no. I couldn’t. And that’s when he…” Anakin weakly gestures to his wounds.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, pained and exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Anakin says, tears beginning to leak out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. But please, please, don’t leave me here alone in the Dark,” Anakin sobs, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. 

Obi-Wan stiffens and Anakin can hardly breathe—he doesn’t even have to fake his hitching, hiccupping sobs in that split-second of doubt. 

Then, all of a sudden, a gentle hand is in his curls, Obi-Wan melting into and returning the embrace just as fiercely as he murmurs reassurances.

Anakin hides his smile in the folds of Obi-Wan’s robes.

***

They spend the next month recovering and plotting and training—at first, Anakin wants to rush back to Coruscant and take down Palpatine immediately, but as usual it is Obi-Wan who counsels caution, who reminds Anakin of both their injuries, both physical and psychically, within the Force.

During their meditation sessions, he figures out how to calm his temper and allow his eyes to flicker back to blue by the end of first week—Obi-Wan cries tears of joy and clutches at Anakin’s face, staring into his eyes as if they will disappear forever. Anakin resolves to figure out how to make the change more permanent—he had not realized how unsettling Obi-Wan found his new eye color and would do anything to make Obi-Wan that happy again.

Still, for all that Anakin comes around to Obi-Wan’s caution, they must compromise. Obi-Wan wishes to take more time for them to regain their strength, rebuild Anakin's prosthetic, and relearn each other in the Force, but Anakin dares not wait any longer for fear of Palpatine even further consolidating his stranglehold on power. So, they steal back onto Coruscant, a month past Palpatine’s formal coronation, and into the new Imperial Palace, before going their separate ways. The element of surprise is crucial, Obi-Wan has decided, and so they must create a conceal Obi-Wan’s presence for as long as possible. This means that Anakin must create a distraction that will draw Palpatine’s attention away long enough for Obi-Wan to get close—a dramatic entrance of sorts that will mask Obi-Wan’s own movements within the room.

Luckily, Anakin is _very_ good at dramatic entrances.

As he enters the throne room, he waves away the red-cloaked, stiff-backed guards with a single flick of his fingers. Whether it is his golden eyes and air of menace or an advanced warning from Palpatine (probably some combination of the two), they let him pass without so much as asking that he disarm himself. He stalks from one end of the ridiculously long room to the other, his dark cloak flaring out behind him as he approaches the darkly lit throne at the end of the hall.

One month in and Palpatine has already razed the once proud spires to the ground and started bulldozing his way through the central ziggurat to replace its clean, smooth lines with something far uglier. Force knows Anakin hated the Jedi and their stupid rules, but they did have an impeccable sense of style, one that had once made a young former slave-boy’s jaw drop with wonder the first time he saw it and that still inspired a little bit of nostalgia in his heart. In contrast, Palpatine’s new throne room is as hideously decorated as his old office always was—deep crimson lines broken up by abstract, black shapes and dim, flickering lighting.

Anakin can’t wait to redecorate.

A long, slow clap echoes throughout the room and Palpatine’s croaky, awful voice soon follows.

“Ah, so the wayward apprentice finally returns…”

Anakin strikes out, before Palpatine can even finish speaking, blue meeting red in a crackling blaze.

Beneath his deep, black velvet hood, red light highlighting every fold and wrinkle, Palpatine snarls.

"Foolish boy, as if you could ever hope to defeat me alone!"

A second blue lightsaber joins Anakin's, crossing under and pushing until Palpatine is forced to fall backwards.

"He’s not alone," Obi-Wan says evenly, tossing his own cloak to the side

Anakin relishes the look of befuddled, angry shock that overtakes Palpatine's features.

It’s almost too easy after that—Palpatine falls under Anakin’s blade mere minutes later, his head severed from his neck in one clean blow. His limbs crumple inwards like loose flimsi, and his head hits the floor of the throne room with one solid, final thunk.

Obi-Wan and Anakin stare for a moment, poised at the base of the throne dais and breathing hard. Palpatine’s guards do not come running in to see the source of the commotion so used they are to the sounds of death that must so often emanate from this room.

Anakin deactivates his lightsaber first, calmly rising out of his low, defensive crouch and drawing himself up to his full height. He turns and begins the walk up the dais stairs. He is stopped only an quarter of the way up, his wrist caught in between Obi-Wan’s hand, and he turns back slightly to meet Obi-Wan’s confused gaze.

“Anakin, what are you doing?” he demands—for all that his voice is urgent, it is not accusatory, only puzzled.

“Claiming my new throne,” Anakin explains with a gentle smile. “My new Empire.”

"Empire—?” Obi-Wan says, voice shaky as full comprehension dawns across his face. “But the Republic—I thought, surely…”

“That I’d what? Restore a corrupt, dying institution that could never be bothered to do its damn job? Weren’t you the one that taught me that it is madness to do the same thing a second time, expecting a different result?”

“Anakin—you swore— _I_ swore to serve the people of this Republic!”

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing, Obi-Wan,” Anakin explains, indulgently. “The people _want_ safety, security, peace—all things the Republic can’t provide. It’s why they cheered the creation of this Empire. I’m just giving them what they want.”

“But you told me that you wanted to destroy Palpatine… I thought you wanted, that you understood how evil he was!”

“Oh, he was. Evil, that is. But that doesn’t mean that he was wrong or that we should abandon this Empire, the first real change this Galaxy has seen in generations. He’s just clearly not the right person to lead it.”

"Oh, and you are?"

" _We_ are."

"What? I can't—! Anakin, this is madness! Surely you can see how the Dark Side has warped your thinking?"

“It’s not warping, Master, only clarity. The Jedi always made things so muddled, but now with the power of the Dark Side, I’m seeing what was there all along!”

“This was always your plan, wasn’t it?” Obi-Wan says softly, his horror fully blooming across his face and through. 

"Would it change anything if I said yes?" Anakin asks calmly, trying to conceal the wild beating of his heart as he evaluates each flicker of emotion across Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan seems to be evaluating him as well, searching. "If I told you I have no intention of giving up my throne, that I never did, would you do your duty and cut me down where I stand? Or worse—turn your back and leave me all alone?"

There is a long, drawn-out moment of silence, then—

Obi-Wan face falls and his shoulders slump.

"No," he admits. “No, I won’t—I _can’t_. Force help me, but I just can’t.”

Relief is a cool, sweet balm to the constant noise in Anakin’s head, but it is soon drowned out by the rising thrum of victory pulsing just underneath his skin—Obi-Wan is _his,_ as he has always been, but now they have the entire Galaxy at their feet as well.

Anakin reaches a hand forward and cups Obi-Wan's cheek in his hand. He tilts Obi-Wan’s head up and meets Obi-Wan’s eyes through a sheen of tears.

"I knew you’d never turn against me,” Anakin says, stroking at Obi-Wan’s temple with his thumb. “You’re the only one who’s never failed me.”

"Oh, Anakin, I know you don’t see it, but I truly have failed you," Obi-Wan whispers, closing his eyes as if it pains him to look at Anakin any longer. Anakin drops a gentle kiss on each eyelid and secures his hold on Obi-Wan’s wrists, gently but firmly drawing him up the dais to the throne. Obi-Wan stumbles forward, eyes still closed as he follows Anakin’s lead. At the top of the dais, Anakin turns and seats himself in the empty throne—leaning back against the cold, hard seat with satisfaction.

Triumph roars through full force through his veins.

Obi-Wan hesitates, whether at the sight of Anakin sprawled in his throne or the sudden twist in the Force, Anakin doesn’t know.

“I was supposed to help you bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness,” Obi-Wan says bleakly as he turns and stares out across the empty, darkened throne room. Anakin leans forward and entwines his flesh fingers with Obi-Wan’s, drawing his attention back. He must assuage these concerns early and never given Obi-Wan enough time to truly ponder his doubts—he knows his Master, knows how he rolls such things over and over and over again in his heads until he is tangled up in worry and self-flagelation.

“But, don’t you see, Obi-Wan? You have!” Anakin insists, with a laugh. “One Jedi, one Sith—evenly matched in power, each of us unwilling to kill the other, using both Light and Dark to bring peace to our new empire. That sounds like balance to me.”

He draws Obi-Wan down, his back pressed to Anakin’s chest as Anakin nuzzles at his neck. Then, Anakin is seated upon his new throne—Obi-Wan perched in his lap and all sorts of powers at his fingertips—and a heady wave of arousal washes through him as all of his wildest dreams come true at once. He skims his nose down and bites at the meat of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan’s breath hitches, but his posture remains stiff, unyielding—his legs tightly clenched together, his back held at an awkward angle.

“Anakin,” he says sharply, “not here, not now.” Anakin laves an apologetic tongue over the newly forming bruise and, despite his words, Obi-Wan melts a little into his arms. “Ah—anybody could walk in, and—oh, _oh!—_ and there’s the corpse.”

“Let him watch,” Anakin murmurs into Obi-Wan’s neck. He tangles a hand in Obi-Wan’s hair and yanks, allowing him better access to his goal. His other hand trails down, wrapping around Obi-Wan’s thigh and bringing it up and back so that it is positioned on one side of Anakin’s hips. Obi-Wan immediately brings the other leg up and Anakin’s hand tightens painfully around his hip, flush with the power that Obi-Wan’s immediate surrender instills in him.

He slides his hand around, cupping at the bulge in Obi-Wan’s pants, gently carefully.

Obi-Wan mewls and cants his hips upwards, seeking more. Anakin draws his hand back slightly, keeping the pressure light, teasing.

“You know,” Anakin murmurs, gazing in satisfaction at the gorgeous sight Obi-Wan makes, “I had thought to commission a second throne, just for you, but I like this—maybe I should let everyone see you like this—see how pretty and desperate you are, pretty and desperate all for _me.”_

“Anakin, no,” Obi-Wan groans shakily, his desperate humping belying his protests. Anakin begins to tug at the opening to his own pants, fumbling with the clasps as he uses the Force to rend all of Obi-Wan’s robes from his body. He brushes them away, exposing pale, freckled skin to the dim light. He lifts his hips and smears pre-come across Obi-Wan’s back. Another moan wrenches its way out of Obi-Wan’s mouth and Anakin frowns a little—he doesn’t like the thought that Obi-Wan is holding back, that somehow Anakin is not enough to make Obi-Wan lose his mind, the way even the thought of Obi-Wan always makes Anakin’s brain run wild. He slips two fingers inside Obi-Wan’s tightly furled hole and is rewarded with the sight of Obi-Wan’s eyes flying open, his arms wrapping around Anakin as he leans his entire weight back. Anakin carefully scissors his fingers—he’s impatient, of course, but never so impatient as to hurt Obi-Wan.

Well, not _too_ much at least.

“I’d let them watch, you know,” Anakin says, silky, almost conversational as the slick sounds of his fingers plunging in and out fill the cavernous room. “Let them see what they can never have—let them see what a beautiful _whore_ you are for _my_ cock.”

He withdraws his fingers and sheathes his cock in one fluid motion—bottoming out with a single, brutal thrust.

Obi-Wan gasps and arches his back.

“Oh yes,” Anakin groans, “yes. I could keep you here like this all day—completely naked, warming my cock as the whole court watches. You’d have to be quiet of course—can’t have your greedy moaning interrupting my work.”

Another moan, drawn out and low.

Anakin winds his arm tighter around Obi-Wan’s chest, plants his feet, and takes up a rhythm, as fast and as hard as the thrill of victory in his veins.

"Mine, you're mine," Anakin crows with a particularly brutal thrust. Obi-Wan's pretty pink mouth falls open. One day—soon—Anakin will drape him in the largest gems, the richest silks, the finest accoutrements his Empire has to offer—his consort, his Obi-Wan deserves no less. "Say you're mine."

Obi-Wan bites his lip and turns his head away.

Anakin narrows his eyes and digs his metal fingers into Obi-Wan’s thigh—his pale skin bruises so beautifully—and slides his flesh hand up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s neck. He tightens his grip—just the barest hint of pressure.

“Say it,” Anakin snarls, teeth snapping near Obi-Wan’s ear.

Still Obi-Wan refuses, furrowing his brow as if pained. Anakin’s eyes narrow, anger nearly blacking out his vision, before he remembers. He exhales and softens his grip.

“Obi-Wan, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you—please, say you’re mine,” he whispers into the shell of Obi-Wan’s ear, all gentle words and hot breath. “This throne means nothing without you—all that I am, all that I ever will be, is yours, Obi-Wan. There’s nothing more important than the way I feel about you—I love you.”

Obi-Wan sobs and Anakin catches his tears in between the pads of his fingers.

“I love you,” Anakin chants again, matching the pistoning of his hips to his words. He pauses at the top and grinds, slow and dirty, rubbing at Obi-Wan’s prostate with his cockhead and relishing the beautiful desperate sounds that it elicits. “I love you, Obi-Wan, I’m yours. Are you mine?” 

"I'm yours," Obi-Wan whispers hoarsely, barely loud enough to be heard over the beat of Anakin’s heart. “I’m yours.”

Anakin presses an open mouth kiss to his temple as Obi-Wan’s hole begins to flutter around him, dragging them both towards crescendo.

“Don’t cry, Obi-Wan,” he croons as Obi-Wan’s seed splatters across his own abdomen and Anakin’s hand. “You’ll see soon enough that this is for the best. You’ll see.”

Obi-Wan is silent apart from his tears

**Author's Note:**

> as always, your kudos and comments give me life.


End file.
